Between the Sky and Earth
by Our Brightest Stars
Summary: The grudge between the Simon and Vongola famiglias isn't what it should be; it's a misunderstanding, a mistake, misplaced. Tsuna and Emna could have been like brothers. Brought on by jealousy and a manipulated broken heart, the spark was lit, the decision was made: she never really had a choice in the first place. But now, the truth is out. [SI-as-Giotto. Precanon. AU. Cozarto/OC.]


**Between the Sky and the Earth**

* * *

 **Jumbled.**

* * *

Being dead twice over has a tendency to put things into perspective. Maybe not the one you wanted, but a perspective nonetheless.

And Vongola Prima — _Giotto,_ _ **Gianna,**_ **and before that there was that woman-thatwoman-that** _ **woman**_ **-** _ **hername;**_ **she can't remember her first _name_ —** can only described it as jumbled.

But, seeing her descendant, seeing his teary doe-eyes filled with apprehension at the unknown in front of him and yet still being able to remain so firm, makes something within herself resonate. Hearing his promise, his _vow_ , leaves her certain that he is, indeed, her successor. Looking eye to eye with Tsunayoshi Sawada — _she had always been short and delicate in this body, something that_ he _would always tease her about_ — she can see herself reflected in his tawny eyes and remember, at least in pieces, how everything came together to end at this point.

Facing him seriously, she informed him, "My child, your Will, your _resolve_ , has been unequivocally accepted. Our hour was engraved on that ring… and I have been waiting for someone such as you to inherit my legacy. It now is up to you, Decimo, whether Vongola flourishes or perishes. I leave the proof of Vongola in your very capable hands."

Gazing into his eyes, Gianna can almost believe that it's her husband's that are staring back into hers…

And she smiled.

* * *

 **Sun.**

* * *

Her earliest memory is that of her father. What the blonde could remember a man who was as bright as the sun. She can't really remember his face, it always seeming to be half-covered in shadow as his form was highlighted in the dying light of the sunset, but she could clearly recall his smile: huge and airheaded and snaggletoothed, but happy.

He laughed without restraint, booming and loud and obnoxious, but kind.

His gestures were always dramatic and sweeping and overly-familiar with her person, but loving.

She remembered these about her father with utter certainty, and treasured them.

Her mother… Well, her mother was absent. Emotionally absent, that was. Closed off and private, but there was no doubt that there was a bond of connection and understanding between the both of them, that her mother did care for her as a parent should… just not as overtly as her husband. It had been enough. Even when Mother had left her and her father, there was this undercurrent of acknowledgement. That it had seemed to be the 'logical' answer.

Question was: which life did these memories come from…?

* * *

 **Fear.**

* * *

There was only one thing that Gianna feared, and that was large bodies of water. Even a pond would send her cringing away. As the daughter of a fisherman, this was viewed as ironic at best and a curse at worst, especially when her father was determined to have her conqueror her fear. Her 'irrational' fear.

Because she couldn't explain to him, couldn't confess that she had died from drowning. That this was, in fact, her second life. That she had every right to fear the water.

She didn't have the heart to tell him that it would be impossible for her to ever get over it and continued to let him do as he pleased. He would leave each morning with the promise of returning that evening, humoring her with a promise that he would, in fact come back.

He would leave her with a little handcrafted seashell necklace that his wife had made him once upon a time, leaving it in Gianna's hands for safe keeping. Every night on the days he went out to sea, she would return it to him when he got back.

One night, he had managed to finagle a promise out of her that she would go fishing with him someday soon.

In the end, though, she never got the chance to.

 _Because, once again, the water stole_ everything _away from her._

* * *

 **Two.**

* * *

It was just her and Ricardo. Gianna wasn't very familiar with her half-brother, other than that they shared the same mother, who had disappeared some years before Gianna's father had been taken at sea. She hadn't actually realized that she had had a brother until he had appeared after the funeral that had no body to bury. He was older than her by several years, but still neither of them were old enough to qualify as adults, leading them to reside in the orphanage until someone adopted one or both of them, unlikely, or until he reached majority.

When she had found out about his relation to her, Gianna had worried that he would feel resentment to her, but this proved to be unfounded.

" _She left you too. We were both wronged and we both understand the importance of family... So it only makes sense for us to stick together, right? It's not like we have anyone else that qualifies."_

He wasn't loving in the traditional sense but still cared in his own, gruff way (just like their mother, but don't tell him that she said that). He didn't hover or force her into doing things she didn't want to do. He would get annoyed or irritated, but generally didn't get angry at her. He was protective, yes, but would let her fight her own battles, only stepping in if it leaned in the direction of the opposing end having an unfair advantage. He accepted her as how she was, tolerating her presence and unique set of 'strange' as long as it remained harmless, didn't comment on her moments of weakness or when he helped her, respecting her need for privacy and independence.

She loved her _fratellone_ , and seeing the look on his face when she first called him that had been a precious memory forever ingrained into her mind.

* * *

 **Deserter.**

* * *

She was still unsure, to this very moment, if she regretted her actions then. If she actually regretted all but abandoning her _fratello_ , when she had once promised not to do what their mother had done **—** _she knew she was a hypocrite, Gianna knew this, so don't yell at her so hatefully, so_ woundedly _, as if she didn't; she knew better than anyone, even_ you _, dear Ricardo_ , _because this wasn't the first time she had run away so extremely; because didn't you know, the first time she ran away, she_ _ **di**_ **—**

Because, had she not, he would not have closed off his heart as he had, succumbing to anger and rage and hate and bitter sadness. Vongola would not have turned out the way it did.

But had she not, then Vongola would not have existed at all. She would not have meet the people forever engrained into her heart, those most precious to her… And that, above all, was unacceptable.

In the end, she can only accept what she had done, mistake or not, and owning up to the fact that she had made her decision in doing what she had… A more technical term would be 'runaway', but Gianna couldn't help but liken this to desertion, instead. Abandoning everything in the name of cowardice. Because she _was_ scared. From her 'responsibility', an expected duty that she couldn't accept. Wasn't ready to accept and would never be able to.

 _And damn you,_ Ricardo _, couldn't you understand her decision more than anyone else? You, who had run away from your 'duty', too? Couldn't you understand that this was one thing that she could never give up? That she would rather die, again, a hundred times over? Didn't you see that seashell that she had left on your dresser? Her promise to return to you someday after everything was all said and done?_

 **(of course you had, you** _ **wore**_ **the fucking thing, never taking it off, even on your deathbed, alone and bitter)**

 _Didn't you know,_ Fratellone _, that I did this all for you, too?_

* * *

 **One.**

* * *

In mid-eighteenth century Italy, Gianna had learned quickly that a preteen girl could not get very far.

At least, not as far as a male could.

It had only been appropriate that 'Gianna' became 'Giotto' for appearance's sake.

It was almost funny how many more jobs there were Giotto and not for Gianna… But in the end, there only one job Giotto ended up accepting, because if she couldn't keep one promise then she would honor the other.

 **(she was fine, she was fine, she was fine, just don't think about it, as long as she didn't have to go in the water, she could do this much for her father, and really she was just** _ **fine**_ **, because this was fine,** _ **really**_ **, she didn't mind sailing out sea, she wasn't destressed by the very idea)**

 **[** _she was_ **]**

If she could do this for that Old Man, maybe, just maybe, it could be her penance and she could truly be free.

 **(because she was just fine, couldn't you see? She wasn't crazy…)**

 **[** _she was_ **]**

If she could just accept her fear and own it and bear it, maybe the dreams at night would finally end.

 **(she wasn't scared)**

 **[** _she was_ **]**

Maybe then Giotto wouldn't feel so dead inside.

* * *

 **Red.**

* * *

Giotto froze when she first meet Gino, flashbacks and memories of That Girl barraging her. If it hadn't been for the fact that she had already given her word and that she, literally, couldn't afford to not do this job, the blonde probably would have turned around and walked away then and there. For seeing her first red head in this life with the same shade as her once-foster-sister's, Giotto had to admit she handled it pretty well by only freezing up for a few seconds.

Instead of, you know, bursting into tears or running away screaming.

Still, red hair and an even _redder_ face. The boy looked moments away from bursting into a fit of rage, just barely holding himself in check. "Why's _he_ here for, Grandpa? Don't we have enough crew members?"

"Oh, Gino, my boy, but we don't have any your age, and he looks like a trustworthy young lad, don't you think?" The old man demurred, doffing his cap to run his hand through his greying copper hair before replacing the hat. Normally, she would have pegged it as a nervous habit, but the man seemed so unconcerned about everything that she was unable to do so.

It really was an interesting shade of color the other teen was turning, but puce was a very unbecoming hue on him. "Just don't hold everyone up, _cabin boy_ ," he finally snarled before turning around to stalk away angrily.

A weathered hand patted her reassuringly on the head. "He'll come around once you prove yourself and your worth as a crew member, my dear boy. For now, just keep close to me and listen to my instructions."

"Yes, Sir."


End file.
